


Don't Take Her Away

by kayisdreaming



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluffy things, and tinged with pleasant angst, followed by more intimate ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3792577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With things inclining toward some settlement, it's time for the Chantry to choose its Divine. And Cassandra is one of the candidates. Krem, knowing all this entails, is eager to stop it. If he cannot, he must instead take every moment as he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Take Her Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twipen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twipen/gifts).



“Please.” Krem begged, the plea perhaps a bit too evident in his voice.

He had tried for the last hour now, trying any variation of logic and emotional appeals and anything he could possibly think of. He wasn’t the most eloquent speaker—far from it, really—but he had to try.

“It’s not that easy.” Was the rather frustrated reply.

“Yes it is.” Krem kept his fists at his sides, knowing that he would probably break whatever else he touched at the moment. And breaking the Inquisitor’s room seemed like the worst idea when trying to convince him. “You’re the Inquisitor. The one who’s going to save Thedas. Whoever you vote for will make it. So just don’t . . . choose her.”

Inquisitor Trevelyan was quiet for a moment, looking up at Krem thoughtfully as he leaned back in his chair. “She could do _good_.”

“So could the First Enchanter or the Spymaster.” He argued, though he knew there were problems in both—things that he knew the Inquisitor didn’t wholly agree with. “It doesn’t have to be _her_.”

There was a rather exasperated sigh, a hint that Krem might not have much more time to make his case. But he knew he was right. And, even if he and the Inquisitor had a sometimes troubled relationship, he knew the other could see it, too.

“She’s a balance, Krem. Not keeping everything exactly the same, and not changing everything in the hope people might follow. She’s good for Thedas.”

“So everything she’s wanted to do, everything she’s tried so hard for, she should just push it aside?” Sure, she wanted to make the Chantry better into something people could trust—something that she might manage as Divine.

But she was a Seeker and a fighter at heart. No one would let a Divine march head-first into a conflict, or personally go alongside her men to fight for what she believed in. No one would let her manually bring the Seekers up from ruin, making them all they were meant to be. At best, she might get to choose someone to manage it in her stead. But it was entirely likely, without her to build the stepping stones, the Seekers would return to what they were, not to what they should be.

“You want me to pick you over Thedas?” There was a taunt in the Inquisitor’s eyes, something . . . that Krem wasn’t sure to wholly attribute it to.

“No.” He said, without hesitation. He knew what Inquisitor Trevelyan thought—that Krem only wanted this because it meant Cassandra would stay. Divines, black or white, weren’t known to have lovers. They would separate. But he and Cassandra had already accepted that, should Seeker business take her somewhere he couldn’t follow, or if the Chargers left and he chose them (he still didn’t know what he _would_ choose). Their separation was inevitable. But not like this. Not when it meant she would have to sacrifice everything else.

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

“This isn’t about me, or you, or Thedas. This is about her. She always does what’s good for everyone. Goes past what she thinks or what she wants or what she believes. Never does anything for herself.” His fist clenched slightly tighter, eyes darting to the floor. “She wants to rebuild the Seekers, to help make Thedas right again. Divine won’t do that for her.”

He paused for a moment, thinking. At least the Inquisitor allowed him the moment for that. “She’s not selfish. Someone has to be for her. Just this one time.”

Fingers pressed together to a peak, the Inquisitor was quiet. After some time, he sighed. “I’ll consider it.”

 

Krem had hoped the discussion would bring him comfort, but instead it seemed to do the opposite. He had hoped for, well, hope, and yet Trevelyan’s arguments and words and expression made his cause seem all the more impossible. Cassandra was good for Thedas, and she was always willing to serve. Whether she was fond of the idea or not, it hardly mattered—if she might change things for the better, it was likely that she would take it as a cause she was proud of. Eventually, possibly, something she enjoyed.

And so his mind couldn’t depart from the idea that she would be gone someday, stuffed up in the Grand Cathedral, surrounded by nobles and clerics who wanted to both further themselves and their own causes. She wouldn’t be sitting at her desk as she was now, focused on yet another report.  The general quiet of their room wouldn’t be infused with her mutters as she attempted to determine the best means of phrasing things. There wouldn’t be discarded papers tossed along the floor, a few forming a pile for the fire. He wouldn’t get to see the gentle curve of her shoulders, relaxed in the privacy allotted to them. Cassandra wouldn’t be there.

Despite his claims, he knew he was being selfish. He didn’t want her to leave, lost somewhere where he might not see her nor touch her nor be blessed with her presence. As Divine she might live, but forever out of his reach. And he wasn’t sure he could handle that.

“You’re distracting.” She muttered, voice more affectionate than scolding. It was only at her words that he realized he had closed the gap between the doorway and where she sat, fingers toying with the hair at her nape.

He made no reply, instead leaning forward and kissing where his fingers had been. They were slow, gentle kisses, moving down her neck and along her shoulder. In the corner of his vision, he could see her quill work, only to stop and continue erratically as he continued to distract. He couldn’t care this time; it was possible that her warmth, her feel, her smell might soon entirely be lost to him.

“Krem,” she protested, though her head tilted to the side to enjoy some of his affections, “I’m trying to work.”

For once, he found he couldn’t care. Sure, it was likely she would be angry at him, force him out of their room so she might get her work done. But the loss was too firm in his mind, and he aimed to memorize what he could as his hands ran slowly along her arms. Her voice, her body, her feel . . . he needed it all.

“ _Cremisius_.”

“ _Fastevas_.” He muttered, voice gentle as his hand moved to brush her collar aside and left a light mark, which his tongue was quick to brush over. “It can wait.”

She made a noise somewhere between her usual scoff of disgust and the general groan when it was clear he was going to get his way. But the two were so different that he couldn’t tell if she was going to physically kick him out or entertain his bout of affection. And she let him sit in this ignorance for quite some time before sighing. “You are not allowed to distract me tomorrow.”

He smiled, the expression showing not half the pleasure he felt. “Deal.”

When her quill was down, that was all the remaining permission he needed. He nudged a leg of the chair with his foot so that she might be easier for him to scoop up. Which he did eagerly. Her arms wrapped around him and he brought her to the bed, gently laying her down upon it and pressing a sweet and loving kiss. His hands wandered up her sides, moving as he tried to decide best what to do with them. To determine what was most important to remember, to have so clearly in his mind. But he wanted _all_ of it, and none seemed more important than the other.

Perhaps this desperation echoed in the kiss, for as he pulled away, she cupped his face, before her fingers moved up to gently brush through his hair. “Did something happen?” She asked, both expression and tone full of concern.

“No.” He whispered, though tilting his head into the touch. It wasn’t a lie; nothing had happened yet, but he was still full of the worry over what might be. Still, he pressed past it to give what he hoped was a comforting smile.

She looked unconvinced, but he didn’t let that deter him. Instead, he kissed her wrist, his hands deciding to slide under her shirt to slowly inch it up. His lips were eager to meet the skin, pressing sweet kisses and the occasional nip and suck that accompanied one of the rather satisfying marks on her body. They wouldn’t last forever, but at least both would know that they _had_ been there. He could still feel Cassandra’s fingers in his hair, grip shifting slightly with every mark as he slowly inched his way up her stomach.

When he had reached her breasts, his lips’ movement upward came to a pause while his fingers finished pushing her shirt in a bunch up over her breasts. He had to be grateful that her clothing was simple today, else this might prove a more frustrating challenge. He might even have muttered a Tevene thanks to the Maker before his lips brushed over a nipple. His hands, now free of their previous duties, took on new ones; one cupped the breast not given attention by his mouth, thumb brushing over a nipple, while the other moved down her side and along a thigh, before tracing along the waistband of her pants.

He relished the breathy moans he drew from her lips, the way her body shifted and reacted to his every touch. He had learned the cues by now, knowing when he had pleased and when he needed to shift only slightly to accommodate. He worked hard to keep the sounds in his mind, the moans, the whispers, everything. And he worked even harder to bring out more with every kiss, lick, and nip.

He knew she was becoming impatient, fingers gripping tighter in his hair while the other hand moved and pressed along his shoulder, unable to go further down though he knew she ached to do so. But he wasn’t allowing her enough space, movement, anything. His sole pleasure now was in pleasuring her, and perhaps later he might strive to memorize the feel of fingers yearning to please on his skin.

Lightly thumbing a nipple, he slid his other hand down her pants and between her legs, stroking and teasing. Drawing out those gorgeous moans and the arch of her back. Waiting until her noises hit just the right desperation, where she was clinging just right, before he pulled his hand away. Her groan of frustration was perhaps even more prominent than her moans, her glare more so. It probably didn’t help that a chuckle passed his lips.

With a pleased hum, he was quick to inch down her pants only as far as he needed, maneuvering so that his lips and tongue might replace the work of his fingers. His eagerness reflected in how quickly she came, how much the moan resonated through her body, and the soft panting as she slumped back into the mattress.

He ran his tongue over his lips, which were making no attempts at hiding his pleasure in his expression. Another sensation he had to remember, her taste on his tongue. Of course, she didn’t allow him long to keep it in mind, roughly pulling him up by his collar into a heated kiss. But he couldn’t really complain, enjoying the mixture of her tastes. No, definitely wouldn’t complain.

“Something happened.” She whispered against his lips, stubborn as ever.

“No, nothing.” He muttered, trying to make himself believe it was true as her fingers moved down along his arms, over his hips, and between his legs. It was almost an impossible task, while he attempted to both enjoy and burn into his memory every touch and sensation. But he tried.

               

 


End file.
